


The Sex Elf

by CJ_Jacobs



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Bechloe family, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Sexy Fluff, bechloe - Freeform, bechloe christmas, bechloe fluff, bechloe parents, bechloe pregnancy, domestic bechloe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJ_Jacobs/pseuds/CJ_Jacobs
Summary: It's Christmas Eve at Beca and Chloe's house, and Beca has only one thing on her mind. (Takes place 3 years after B.Y.O.B(aby) and 1 year after No Kissing)





	The Sex Elf

Not for the first time tonight, Beca finds herself wondering if it’s wrong to be this horny on Christmas Eve.

Because it feels wrong. Dirty, somehow. Not seasonally appropriate. After all, Christmas is supposed to be about wholesome, childlike, non-sexual things.  _Family_ things.

But then, the whole notion of family is precisely what’s put her into this situation, Beca muses, as she clumsily wields a screwdriver in an attempt to secure the wheel onto a doll stroller intended for her four-year-old daughter. Family, and the fact that in approximately five months theirs - hers and Chloe’s - is set to expand by two. And, most crucially, the fact that she’s the one carrying those two, and thus the one dealing with all the crazy, out of control hormones that pregnancy has brought in its wake.

For the ninth or tenth time in the past fifteen minutes, Beca finds her gaze drawn against her will to the other side of the master bedroom, where Chloe is wrapping presents, using their king size bed as her table. She’s got all her materials laid out on it; shopping bags full of gifts, ribbons, bows, tags, scissors and tape, boxes, and half a dozen rolls of wrapping paper, chosen specifically for color variety. But it’s not the paper or the presents that are drawing Beca’s attention, it’s Chloe herself. From here, Beca can only see her from the back. She’s dressed in a dark green romper printed with tiny red and white candy canes. In addition to this, she’s sporting fuzzy Christmas socks, dangly snowflake earrings, and a headband with a pair of perky cloth reindeer antlers. The fact that in spite of this ridiculous ensemble, Beca finds herself gazing at her lustfully says a lot about the current state of her libido.

Because no matter how hard she tries, her mind keeps sliding right back to sex. Her entire body is suffused with a kind of sensual energy like nothing she’s ever felt before, and it’s never satisfied for long. The fact that she’s already partaken of some afternoon delight today means nothing, because that was hours and hours ago, and these days the urges cycle back around continuously, with no let-up, multiple times every day.

Idly, she finds herself wondering,  _Is this what Stacie feels like all the time? Is that why she-_

 _No_. Picturing Stacie’s sex life is not going to help.  _Dolls. Strollers. Christmas. Wholesome family things._ That’s what she needs to be thinking about.  _Focus_ , she commands herself.  

“How’s it goin’ over there, Mrs. Claus?” Chloe calls to her, as if sensing her distraction.

Beca surveys her work. “You know, I’m pretty sure the only reason my mom sent an unassembled toy is because the thought of me doing this in the middle of the night was hilarious to her.”

Chloe smiles. “Or,” she suggests tolerantly, “maybe it’s because that kind is cheaper, and that’s all she could afford.”

“Nah,” Beca rejects this idea. “This is payback, for all the Christmas Eves she didn’t get any sleep. See, every year she tried to get us to celebrate Hanukkah instead, and we never would take the bait. I’m telling you, this is a revenge gift. She is one sadistic woman.”

Laughing a little, Chloe reflects after a few seconds, “I think it’s just, like, a law of parenting, though, right? That we have to spend at least one Christmas Eve trying to assemble a toy?”

“Maybe. Except  _we_ aren’t assembling it. I am.”

“Hey. I’m busy over here, too,” she chides her.

Indeed she is. Beca finds herself trying and failing once again not to look as Chloe bends over the bed to cut another segment of wrapping paper, the tightness of the romper clinging to and perfectly accentuating her curves. Beca watches as she runs a pair of scissors down the middle of a sheet of glittery silver paper in a straight line. Normally this sound is one that for no particular reason grates on her nerves, like fingernails on a chalkboard. But tonight it sounds almost lewd. At the moment everything seems specifically designed to work on her hormones, not her nerves.

The funny thing is, she’d never wanted to be pregnant. In fact, until just a few months ago, she would have been adamant that it was the one life experience above all others she was determined  _never_ to go through. But then she’d changed her mind. She’s still not entirely sure why.

Because after Violet, she and Chloe had basically accepted that they’d never have another one. The pregnancy had been difficult; Chloe was sick a lot in the beginning, then the end had come abruptly, six weeks early, and Beca had spent a harrowing few days at the hospital with a premature baby and an unconscious wife, wondering if her life as she knew it was about to end. By some miracle, everything had turned out fine. Fine, that is, except for one small thing. Chloe had been warned by her doctor that another pregnancy wouldn’t be a good idea. At the time, it had seemed like a small price to pay.

But yet, here they are. Expecting not just one, but - in the most shocking news of their lives -  _two_ more.

And to everyone’s surprise, no one’s more than her own, Beca has found that pregnancy agrees with her. Not only has she not been sick, not even once, and not only is she possessed of more energy and a better mood than usual, but her sex drive has shot through the roof. Actually, one might even say it’s starting to be a bit of a problem. Needing sex so many times a day has its downsides. It’s convenient that her studio is located here on the property, which means it’s easy to duck in for a brief tryst, but having a four-year-old who’s not yet in school makes things more complicated. Violet’s three mornings a week at daycare and her daily two p.m. naptime have become blessed interludes of carnal indulgence.

Beca finds her thoughts wandering back to this afternoon’s session, her body remembering just how it had felt to be pinned under Chloe and clinging to the headboard as she….  _No_. That’s not going to help either. Shaking her head a little to clear the lust fog, she forces herself to focus on the damn doll stroller. It takes every ounce of her concentration to make sense out of instructions like  _Squeeze the metal bracket on the wheel to open it, slip the wheel onto the end of the rod, and release the bracket_. She’s not even one hundred percent positive she knows what the hell a  _bracket_ is, and the words  _squeeze_ and  _slip_ look like porn in her current state of mind. But she’s doing her best.

Finally, the last wheel seems to be locked into place. “Okay. Moment of truth.” She practically holds her breath as she gives the pink stroller an experimental push forward, then pulls it back, making sure it rolls properly. “I  _think_ it’s finished. Thank God.”

“No pieces left over?” Chloe asks.

Beca looks into the box. There are approximately nine pieces left over. “Nope.” She strategically covers them with the instruction sheets. “We’re good.”

Wincing as her stiff muscles protest, she pulls herself up from the floor. “But, um, just to be on the safe side, let’s make sure we never put an  _actual_ baby in this thing.”

Chloe has also paused briefly in her assembly-line gift wrapping. She’s sipping from a glass of red wine, looking at the bed as if measuring how much is left to do. Beca approaches behind her and presses herself up against her back, wrapping her arms around her. Chloe sighs a little and leans back into her, bringing her free hand up to squeeze Beca’s arm.

Though her stomach is only just beginning to pop out, the roundness subtle enough that if she wears a baggy shirt it’s not even that noticeable, standing like this, Beca can feel the difference. Odd to think that in another few months, she won’t be able to stand like this at all. She presses herself even tighter against Chloe, to take advantage of it while she can. Nuzzling up into the spot just behind her ear, she murmurs, “Have I ever told you how sexy you look in those reindeer antlers?”

“What reindeer antlers?” Then Chloe gasps, her mouth forming an O of surprise. She suddenly reaches up and yanks the felt antlers from her head. “Oh my God, I forgot I had these on!”

Beca gives a loud laugh. “Seriously?”

“How long have I been wearing these?”

“Like,  _all_ day.”

She marvels at the antlers, amazed. “No wonder the Fed Ex guy was giving me such a weird look.” She tosses them aside, jokingly accusatory. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew. It’s not like it’s the strangest thing you’ve ever done on Christmas Eve. Remember the year you put jingle bells in your bra?”

Chloe giggles a little at the memory as she takes another sip of wine. “That was a good Christmas.”

With her arms still wrapped around her from behind, and using the subject as an opportunity, Beca now unfastens the top few buttons of the romper and slips a hand in, wondering, “Anything in there this year? Oh, wow. Not even a bra.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not gonna work,” Chloe informs her with a grin, although she leans back against Beca and makes no move to stop her.

“I’m  _trying_ to feel you up. And, I think it already did work.”

“You know what I mean. I’m not gonna let you distract me. Not tonight.”

“Can’t you take a break? I need you,” Beca whines, trying to make it sound like joke begging instead of actual begging, which it is.

“Babe, look at the time. Santa’s on the clock, here.”

Beca glances at the digital clock next to the bed, shocked to see that it’s almost three in the morning. “We shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to do all this,” she mutters petulantly against Chloe’s shoulder.

“I know, but everything’s been so crazy. And a lot of my spare time lately has been taken up by  _someone_ demanding sex.”

“Really?” Beca asks. “Who?”

“That would be the person whose hand is currently in my shirt.”

“Oh,  _her_.”

“Yes, her. And she’s not gonna be too happy about this, but I have to get back to work now,” Chloe sets her wineglass aside on the trunk at the foot of the bed and delicately removes the hand from her shirt, over Beca’s sad-sounding protests. As if to compensate her for the loss, Chloe turns to kiss her.

Sensing her opportunity, Beca tries to make the most of the kiss, but she’s distracted by another, non-sexual craving.

“Mmm, I can taste the wine on your mouth,” she murmurs against Chloe’s lips.

Chloe seems bemused. “You don’t even like wine.”

“No, but I like alcohol. And I miss it.” She pulls her back in for another deep kiss. She can feel Chloe actively trying to resist letting things heat up beyond a certain level, but at the same time Chloe is such a good kisser that it’s hard for her to fight her natural instincts. Beca tries to take advantage of her internal battle, using her tongue in a precise and practiced way that draws Chloe into being the aggressor. It works for a few seconds, but then Chloe seems to realize what she’s doing, and she uses all her willpower to pull back and break the kiss.

“ _Really_?” Beca asks.

“Really.” Then Chloe cups Beca’s face in her hands, briefly leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. “But maybe later, okay?”

Beca sighs, apparently giving in.

But just then Chloe jumps a little, turning to glance behind her and down toward her ass. “What was that? Did you just pinch me?”

“What? No. Why would I- ?” Beca makes a face of exaggerated innocence. Then she seems to think of something. “But, oh, you know what I bet it was? I bet it was the sex elf.”

Chloe tilts her head. “The  _what_ , now?”

“You’ve… never heard of the sex elf? For real? That’s insane. I thought everyone knew about this.”

Crossing her arms, Chloe plays along, waiting for her to explain.

“The sex elf is that little creature that goes around on Christmas Eve, pinching people. And when you get pinched, you become overwhelmingly aroused. And you have to get laid, like, right then. You have no choice.”

“Really. This is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know about this.”

Chloe narrows her eyes in mock seriousness. “Are you sure that’s not leprechauns you’re thinking of?”

“What?  _No_.” Beca makes a disgusted face. “Gross. Leprechauns are, like, ugly little Irish dudes. Who care way too much about the color green. The sex elf is hot. And, frankly, she prefers it if you’re not wearing anything.”

“Oh, so the sex elf is female?”

“Well,” Beca shrugs. “Yeah. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Chloe agrees. She smiles and then leans forward for one more light kiss, getting Beca’s hopes up. “Well, it was really sweet of her to pay us a visit. It’s too bad she couldn’t have stuck around to help with some of this.” She gestures at the gift-wrapping mess.

“Yeah.” Beca grimaces. “I think she’s really just… more about the sex?”

Chloe nods, amused, but then looks regretful. “Beca?”

Beca waits, giving her an expectant, somewhat pleading look.

“It’s not gonna happen,” Chloe whispers, dashing all her hopes.

Momentarily accepting defeat, Beca sighs heavily and drops onto the bed, stretching out directly on top of Chloe’s present-wrapping workshop. “Fine,” she sulks.  

“But, you know, if you’re bored, you could help me finish this up,” Chloe suggests.

“ _Uuhhh_ ,” she moans. “You know I hate wrapping presents, dude. I’m carrying your children! Isn’t that enough?”

“Oh my God,” Chloe laughs at her. “Enjoy that excuse while it lasts.” But she doesn’t insist.

Beca tries to relax and coerce her body into a zone of patience, but now that she’s actually lying on the bed, the urge to touch herself is nearly overpowering. It hasn’t been this strong since she was sixteen and puberty finally slammed into her with the finesse of a car crash. She sits up again, crossing her arms and tucking her hands away to keep them out of trouble. Not that Chloe would mind. But she has a feeling that trying to get herself off while her wife ignores her and wraps presents for a four-year-old would be not so much sexy as pathetic.

Instead, she watches Chloe work, pondering the absurdity of being awake in the middle of the night wrapping gifts in paper that’s going to be torn off and thrown away in less than six hours. Being a parent is strange. But it’s pointless to question it.

Chloe has her own distinctive manner of wrapping presents, a way of folding the paper which is like nothing Beca has ever seen any human being do before. Somehow, the packages always end up looking great. But like so much else that she does, Chloe goes about it using a bizarre method she seems to have invented on her own, as if no one ever taught her the normal way to do it. Momentarily distracted from her lust, Beca finds herself watching with amused fascination as she finishes taping up the paper on one gift, then with a flourish adds a stick-on bow - not in the center, but in one corner.

Shaking her head with a fond smile, Beca mutters, “You’re so weird.”

Turning to set the package on a pile of already-wrapped boxes in a chair beside the bed, Chloe lets out a breath of relief. “There.”

Beca perks up, hopeful. “That’s it? You’re done?”

“Well, I’m not  _done_ done. I’m done with the big stuff. There’s still all the stocking stuffers.” She lifts a plastic bag from the floor near the side of the bed and turns it upside down over the comforter. Approximately thirty small items tumble out.

“What?” Beca looks at her like she’s crazy. “You’re not gonna wrap all those, are you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Chlo, they’re stocking stuffers. The  _stocking_ is the wrapping. That’s the whole point.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No, because then when she dumps it out, she’ll be able to see all of it at once. Where’s the surprise, where’s the anticipation? I want her to have to open each one, individually.”

“Oh my God, that’s-” Beca digs her fingers into her own hair and vigorously shakes her head, making a clenched-teeth sound like “ _Mrrrmmm_.” It’s the sound she makes when she’s trying to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret. After restraining her worst impulses, she drops her hands and settles for, “You know that’s gonna take forever, right?”

“I don’t care how long it takes,” Chloe says stubbornly. “We’ve got all day.”

Beca lifts one of the items from the pile. “You’re gonna wrap these socks?”

“Mm-hm.”

She picks up another item. “This roll of Sweetarts?”

Chloe nods. “Yep.”

“You’re gonna wrap this lip balm. This  _one, individual_  tube of lip balm.”

“That’s right,” Chloe confirms, and because there’s a slight edge to her tone now, Beca decides she should probably back off. She carefully sets the lip balm back onto the pile, suppressing an eye roll like a good girl.

While Chloe starts in on the stocking stuffers, Beca reaches over and grabs her phone off the nightstand to check her messages. There’s a handful of Merry Christmas texts from the Bellas, nothing out of the ordinary. The one from Aubrey, however, makes Beca narrow her eyes in suspicion. It reads  _Merry Christmas Beca! Hope this one leaves you satisfied ;) ;)_

Setting the phone back on the nightstand, she ponders the meaning of this for a few seconds.

“Hey,” she says casually. “You didn’t tell Aubrey about my whole… horniness…  _issue_ , did you?”

“Of course not.” But Chloe doesn’t look at her.

“Because I just got a weird text from her. And, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty sure I overheard you on the phone earlier saying something about a… what were the words?  _Crazy little sex fiend.”_

Chloe shakes her head slightly and frowns, but still doesn’t glance up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Beca studies her face for a few seconds, taking note of how hard she’s now trying not to laugh, and the continued lack of eye contact. “You did!” she suddenly gasps, letting her mouth fall open in pretend shock. “Dude, you told her?!”

“Beca,” Chloe protests, finally looking up at her. “Come on. Aubrey’s my best friend. I tell her everything!”

“About our  _love life_?”

“It’s not like she’s gonna judge you. She’s been pregnant before, she knows about the hormones.”

“Okay, wow.” Beca plays up her mock outrage, a hand on her heart. “I can not believe that you would betray the sanctity of our marriage like that. Honestly? There’s only one way that you could ever make this up to me.”

“Hmm,” Chloe muses, snipping off a length of ribbon. “And what way would that be?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Beca tells her. “It involves you taking off your clothes. Right now.”

Attempting to tie the ribbon around one of the stocking stuffers, Chloe responds only with a slightly pitying look.

“No? Damn it,” Beca mutters. “I thought the guilt trip was the way to go.” She thinks for a few seconds, trying to come up with a more effective angle. Then she suddenly asks, “Is it just me, or is it really hot in here?” As she says these words she slowly pulls off her shirt, leaving her in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a lacy black bra.

“Nope.” Pressing her lips together to try to stifle a smile, Chloe shakes her head and concentrates on her battle with the ribbon. “I’m ignoring you.”

“Really? You can ignore this?” Beca cups her own breasts and pushes them together and up, trying to create some amplified cleavage.

As if to prove her right, Chloe glances up at her, again trying not to laugh.“Why are you wearing one of your sexy bras under your pajamas?”

“Because a girl needs to be prepared. Especially when her wife is resisting her seduction attempts.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” Chloe teases her. “A seduction? See, I didn’t get that.”

“Well, now you know.”

She snips out a small rectangle of paper, just big enough to wrap a toothbrush in. “You know what this is, Beca?” she says reflectively, pointing at her with the scissors. “It’s  _karma_. For all those years I tried to get into your pants in college, and you wouldn’t let me.”

Beca widens her eyes with pretend dismay. “That is so twisted! For most of that time, I didn’t even think you were serious, I thought you were just messing with me.” She’s quiet for a second, as if considering how much she wants to reveal. A little awkwardly, she admits, “It’s not like I never thought about it. I had some pretty inappropriate dreams over the years.”

“Really?” Chloe looks intrigued. “You never told me that.”

Pursing her lips, Beca nods. After a pause, she adds, “First one was after the shower thing.”

“ _What_? That was only the second time we met! Even  _I_  didn’t have a sex dream that early.”

“Yep. What can I say?” Beca shrugs. “Guess my dream self is kind of a slut.” She considers. “And, now, apparently, so is my awake self. Which could end at any time. So…” she holds her arms and gives a little shimmy of invitation, “you might want to get on this, while it lasts.”

“Well, that  _is_ hard to resist, when you put it so romantically.”

“Right?”

“But I think I’m still gonna have to finish these presents.”

Beca gives a dramatic groan at yet another failure. “You are killing me, lady.”  

After another few minutes of watching her, Beca decides to try some props.  She picks up a long tubular roll of wrapping paper and holds it so that it springs up from between her legs. “What about this? Does this do anything for ya?”

Chloe looks over at her, teasing, “If it did, it would be bad news for you.” She reaches out and snatches away the roll of paper. “Give me that, I need it.”

As it’s yanked away Beca hisses sharply and stares down at her left hand. “You  _bitch_. You gave me a papercut!”

“Aww. Poor baby.” But she doesn’t sound particularly sympathetic.

“Ow.” Beca stares down at the shallow cut between her fingers, musing, “Why is this making me even more turned on? Am I  _into_ this? Maybe this is my kink.” She looks up at Chloe and asks in a flirtatious tone, “You want to give me another one?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she smiles, picking up her wine glass and draining what’s left of it, as though dealing with Beca’s current mood requires all the alcohol available. “Although…” she says after a few seconds, biting her bottom lip as an idea occurs to her. She sets the empty wine glass aside. “Speaking of kinks.” Now she bends forward over the bed, balancing herself with one hand on the mattress, her face coming tantalizingly close to Beca’s. She lets her voice drop into a breathy, lascivious register. “You know what would make me really,  _really_ hot right now?”

Beca watches nearly hypnotized as she approaches, staring first at her eyes and then at her mouth, only inches away. She tries to say the word “what?” but isn’t quite sure it comes out.

“The sight of you, in this bra…” Chloe coos seductively, actually running her fingertip down the bra strap and then along the edge of one of the cups as Beca follows its progress with rapt attention. Chloe pauses for dramatic effect, waiting until Beca looks up at her again, then concludes in a whisper, “Wrapping some of these stocking stuffers.” Then she leans back and straightens up, punctuating the performance with a quick wink.

“Hm.” This is the only response Beca can immediately manage as she tries to remember how to breathe. After seeming to consider the proposition, she says doubtfully, “See, I  _feel like_ that’s not one hundred percent true? I feel like I  _might_ be getting used, here.”

“Well,” Chloe tosses her a roll of tape, “guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Realizing there’s no point in continuing to fight it, Beca decides to give in and help. Even if it doesn’t actually make Chloe hot, it’ll at least mean they’ll be finished with everything sooner, which will still, hopefully, bring her closer to sex. It’s a no-brainer. So they divide the pile of remaining items up and get to work.

Wrapping things that aren’t in boxes turns out to be easier and more fun than Beca would have predicted, since it’s okay if it looks messy and there’s almost no way to get it wrong. Eventually, Chloe gets tired of standing and climbs onto the bed, sitting across from her. They trade the tape and scissors back and forth, losing them both every few minutes under the growing drift of wrapping paper scraps covering the bed.

At one point Beca seems overly amused with herself, and Chloe looks over to find her wrapping Scotch tape around the paper covering a plastic My Little Pony toy, over and over and over again, essentially mummifying the poor pony.

“What are you doing?” Chloe giggles.

“You wanted the anticipation factor. Let’s see how long it takes her to open this one.”

The piles of gifts keep diminishing until finally,  _finally_ , the very last box of sidewalk chalk is wrapped and added to the bag of finished items, ready to be crammed into the jumbo-sized stocking waiting downstairs.

Beca hardly dares to believe her own senses. “So, that’s it then? We’re done. With everything.”

Chloe looks around, considering. “What about the doll stroller?”

“Okay, we are  _not_ wrapping that,” Beca says firmly. “I’ll throw a sheet over it or something.”

“Then… yeah.” She looks back at Beca. “I guess that’s it.”

Trying and not succeeding very well at keeping her eyes from gleaming with pure lust as she stares at her, Beca offers, “Sooo, do you need like a bathroom break, or…?”

Chloe seems amused by this. “No, I’m good. I- “

But before she can complete this thought, Beca has pounced on her, with a kiss so forceful and bruising that both their mouths will probably be sore tomorrow. But she’s past caring. She pushes her back toward the middle of the bed, angling for the pillows, the wrapping paper crackling loudly underneath them. Chloe squeals in laughter, breaking the kiss to say, “Let me clear the bed off first!”

“Nope, it’s fine,” Beca gasps. “Leave it. We can knock this out in, like, five minutes.”

“God, that’s so sexy,” Chloe breathes against her ear. “Tell me again how  _fast_ you can be, it’s such a turn-on.”

“Shut up,” Beca laughs.

With Chloe now up against the pillows at the top of the bed, Beca climbs onto her lap, straddling her, almost undone by the instantaneous pleasure of even the light friction of this much contact.  _Oh God Oh God Oh God_. She hasn’t even progressed as far as taking her sweatpants off yet, but even through the fabric the welcome pressure of Chloe’s body has her eyes rolling back in her head. In the past this would have been barely enough to register on her, but she’s so excruciatingly sensitive that any touch at all is already like a mini-orgasm. Immediately she begins rocking against Chloe in slow waves, trying to keep her movements sensual instead of desperate.

At the same time, she unbuttons the front of Chloe’s romper for the second time tonight and peels it off her shoulders, ducking down to return to the bare skin with her lips. She feels Chloe’s expected shiver as she tilts her head back to allow Beca easier access. Her collarbone is her secret erogenous zone, in the same way Beca’s ears are hers. It’s a surefire way to kick her passion up a few notches. As she kisses down the ridge of her shoulder and then along the top of her chest, she feels Chloe’s fingers working at the bra strap on her back. Without too much effort she unhooks it and Beca shrugs it off.

She continues working her way along Chloe’s collarbone and then back up her neck on the other side, but the fact that her breasts are now free is making her antsy, and she straightens her spine and lifts herself higher against Chloe’s body to put them nearer her mouth, hoping she gets the hint. She does.

The sensation of Chloe’s tongue tracing circles over one breast, followed not too long afterward by the enveloping warmth of her mouth clamping down on the other one sends a surge of heat blooming upwards from between Beca’s legs, and her thighs lock around Chloe’s hips in a preliminary spasm of pleasure. This in turn causes Chloe to press up against her and then to nip at her with her teeth, a feedback loop that jolts Beca with an even sharper stab of ecstasy and an increased frenzy to her writhing.

Suddenly she realizes that she’s too close.  _Way_ too close, for this early in the game. To try to slow herself down, she grasps Chloe’s head in her hands and physically pulls it up and away from her chest, signaling that she wants to kiss her. Chloe looks a little surprised, since Beca isn’t normally the type to want to go back to the preliminaries, after they’ve already gotten down to more serious business. But she happily obliges, sliding her hands up Beca’s bare back and pulling her even closer as she angles her head up and into the kiss.

As Chloe has gradually shifted further back into the pillows, Beca has worked herself lower down her body, and now Chloe’s pelvic bone is positioned directly between her legs, up against the precise spot that’s been begging for attention for hours. Still, this shouldn’t be enough contact, she  _knows_ it shouldn’t. And yet her lower body is behaving as if it is, almost as if it has a mind of its own, her squirming becoming more deliberately rhythmic, her hips rotating with purpose while her kisses gradually lose focus and then break off completely as her breathing grows more ragged.

Because it’s happening. All of a sudden she knows it’s happening, and either she can slam on the brakes completely or she can help it along and make sure it’s as satisfying as possible. She’s already past the point of no return. No sense in wasting it. So instead of fighting it she doubles down shamelessly, using every ounce of her strength to grind herself against Chloe’s lap, while Chloe assists her along by pushing herself up against her while simultaneously tugging downward on Beca’s hips.

Then she shudders and her back bows into a taut arc, her head practically upside down, and if Chloe wasn’t hanging onto her around the waist she would definitely fall over backwards. She hangs there suspended, waiting for it to spasm itself out. Every day the orgasms seem to be getting  _bigger_ , somehow. They’re more powerful, they take up more space inside her, and they last longer than she would have once thought possible. The bliss that floods through her now is so piercing that it brings actual tears to her eyes, and she has to make an effort to keep from screaming. Instead she makes a noise that probably sounds more like pain than pleasure, but it’s the most restrained she can manage.

Finally, feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded, still breathing hard, she steadies herself and rises back to vertical. The force of her grinding has pushed Chloe all the way back into a nearly reclining position, with Beca still straddling her midsection. Taking in gulps of air, mortification gradually settling in with the slowing of her pulse, Beca now looks down at her beautiful wife, at her messy hair splayed around her on the pillows, one strand caught in a snowflake earring, her lips swollen from the force of their brief but intense make-out session.

Chloe stares up at Beca, her eyes sparkling with mirth, stunned but also a little impressed. “Was that- ?”

Beca now covers her face with her hands as she realizes exactly what she just did. “Yep,” she confirms in a small voice.

“Wow. You weren’t kidding. That  _was_ fast.”

Beca only winces and shakes her head a little, hands still covering her face.

Chloe is enjoying this way too much. “I didn’t even touch you yet.”

“I know.”

“You’re still wearing your pants.”

“Oh my God, I  _know_. Stop talking about it.”  

Chloe giggles and pulls her down, and Beca allows herself to fall against her, laughing into the side of her neck, glad to hide her burning face.

“ _Jesus_ ,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Chloe tells her, stroking her back. “It’s sort of flattering, in a… weird way. Also kinda hot,” she admits.

Beca takes a deep, shuddering breath, releasing it and feeling most of the tension drain out of her body as her pulse finally slows down. “I really needed that.”

“I shouldn’t have made you wait so long.” Chloe’s still rubbing slow circles on her back. “You need some time to recover, before the second half?”

She hesitates, but then accepts the offer. “Maybe just a few minutes.” Shifting off Chloe and onto her side, they lie facing each other, separated by only a few feet.

“Your face is all red,” Chloe smiles. She places the back of her hand against Beca’s cheek, as if checking for fever.

“That’s the color of  _shame_ ,” Beca informs her, only half joking. She likewise reaches over and carefully extracts the hair that’s tangled in Chloe’s earring, then strokes it to smooth it out.

Inching closer to her across the pillow, Chloe nuzzles into a slow, lazy kiss. For a long while she seems content to keep it at this level, as if they have all the time in the world, and from the way she’s seeking out cuddles even in the midst of what’s supposed to be sex, Beca senses that she’s not in any big hurry, physically. Waiting for her energy reserves to return, she finds herself drifting into a kind of dreamy, hazy post-orgasm euphoria as they continue making out like teenagers. Beca’s fine with letting her set the pace, she just hopes she doesn’t fall asleep before Chloe decides she’s ready to kick it into high gear.

But suddenly Chloe stiffens and raises her head, like she’s listening.

“What?” Beca asks drowsily.

“I thought I heard something. In the hallway.”

“Maybe it’s Santa. Maybe he wants to watch, that old perv.”

Chloe gives her a distracted smile.

“That didn’t turn you on, did it?”

“Beca, shh. I’m serious, I hear something.”

Beca raises her head to listen as well, and confirmation shortly follows; there’s what sounds like a faint, feeble knock at the door, almost more like a scratch than a knock. Maybe one of the cats, Beca hopes.  _Please let it be one of the cats._

But then they hear just outside their door the one sound that no parent ever wants to hear in the middle of the night, especially while attempting to do what they’re attempting to do.

“Mommy?”

They stare at each other.

“What the hell?” Beca hisses. “Why is she awake?” Suddenly paranoid, she asks, “I wasn’t that loud, was I?”

“No,” Chloe assures her. “Maybe she’s sick.” In a loud, upbeat voice, she calls, “Just a second, sweetheart!”

Beca sits up and searches for her shirt under all the wrapping paper on the bed, then yanks it back on, not bothering with the bra. She starts toward the door but then suddenly remembers they have a bigger problem than just incomplete sex.

“Shit, the presents,” she whispers. “What do we do?”

“Um,” Chloe casts around for a solution. “Blankets!”

As fast as they can, they tug the comforter from the bed and cover the piles of presents on the floor. Beca grabs a knitted afghan to drape over the stack of gifts in the armchair in the corner, while Chloe snatches a spare sheet from a nearby laundry basket, tossing it over the doll stroller.

“Hold on, we’re almost there!” she calls again, trying to sound normal. She looks around, asking Beca, “Is everything covered?”

Beca smirks. “Not quite everything.”

Chloe looks down at where Beca’s gesturing, realizing that she’s still topless. “Oh.” She laughs and yanks the romper back up onto her arms, and is just finishing the last button when Beca reaches the door.

Checking to make sure Chloe is ready, she pauses, then swings it open.

On the other side, waiting in the hallway, they’re confronted with the face of tragedy. Violet stands there in her brand new blue and white snowman-printed Christmas pajamas, the one gift she’d been allowed to open tonight before bed, but the expression on her face is anything but festive. She looks wretched.

“ _Sweetie_.” Chloe’s voice is drenched in pre-emptive sympathy. “What happened?”

“Did you puke?” Beca asks, getting right to the point.

Shell-shocked, Violet stares into the middle distance as if she’s barely aware of their presence. In a quiet tone of disbelief, she says, “He didn’t come here.”

“What?” They look at each other, uncomprehending.

Repeating herself, Violet emphasizes each word for the benefit of their challenged adult brains. “He. Didn’t. Come. To. Our.  _House_.”

“Who didn’t?” Beca demands.

Violet finally looks up at her, her mouth a tiny O of surprise, flabbergasted that her mother could be so stupid. “ _Santa Claus_!”

“Wait, did you go downstairs?” Chloe looks dismayed. “It’s not even morning yet.”

Ignoring this question, Violet shakes her head and walks a few paces into the room, then spins around and comes back, then repeats the process, wringing her tiny hands and looking distraught.

“Uh-oh,” Beca mutters. “She’s pacing. Where have I seen this before?”

“Violet, oh my God, this is just a misunderstanding, please don’t freak out,” Chloe begs her.

Without seeming to hear her, Violet continues her pacing. “I can’t believe this!” she rants. “This is the worst Christmas  _of my life_!”

“Oh, man,” Beca winces. “Out of all four?”

“ _Beca_.” Chloe shoots her a warning look. Then she takes Violet by the shoulders and gently guides her over to the trunk at the foot of their bed. “Honey, come over here, and listen to me for a minute.” She sits down and pulls Violet up to sit next to her, telling her, “Santa Claus is going to be here, I promise. It’s still early, there’s plenty of time.”

“No. He’s not coming. And I know why. It’s because I did something bad.” She’s really playing up the melodrama, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout that she must have learned from a sitcom kid.

“What? No, you didn’t,” Chloe tries to comfort her. “You’ve been really good this year.”

“I wasn’t good yesterday.” Violet looks at her, saying pointedly, “You don’t  _know_ , Mommy.”

“Ohhh.” Now Chloe’s catching on. “I see.”

Beca approaches, lowering herself to the edge of the bed a few feet from Chloe. Trying to sound as if she’s taking this seriously, she offers, “Is there something you want to tell us?”

It takes only a few seconds for Violet to decide that she does want to tell them, since she’s obviously suffering from a guilty conscience. “Okay.” She hops down from the wooden chest and comes to stand in front of them both, then takes a deep breath. “Yesterday…” she stares mournfully at her socks, looking for all the world like she’s about to deliver a eulogy. “I peed in the plant.”

Chloe and Beca glance at each other, baffled.

“What plant?” Beca asks.

Violet sighs, miserable but determined to press forward with her confession now that she’s started. “The big one. In the living room. With the red flowers.”

“My poinsettia plant?” Chloe asks, her voice strained as if she’s already trying to hold back laughter.

“In the dirt,” Violet specifies. “Not the flower part.”

“Oh.” Chloe nods slowly, but then clamps a hand over her own mouth.

“Because the Grinch was on,” Violet adds, warming to her narrative now. “And I had to go real bad. But I didn’t want to miss it, so I didn’t go yet. But then I couldn’t wait any more. So I went in the plant.”

Pressing her lips together hard, Beca glances once at Chloe and then looks quickly away before they make eye contact, certain that then they’d really lose it. Because they both know that their daughter is sensitive about being laughed at, it would be a bad idea. But this is one of those times when it’s practically torture to fight it.

Beca manages to master herself first. To buy Chloe some time to get it together, she comments, “I can see how that might be tempting. That white pot does sort of look like a toilet.”

This apparently doesn’t help Chloe, because now an odd stifled snort comes from behind the hand she’s holding over her mouth.

Beca adds, “And, I mean, who wants to leave the room when the Grinch is on, right?”

Violet nods, glad somebody gets it. “But it was still bad,” she points out.

Finally, Chloe regains her composure. She lowers her hand, saying sympathetically, “ _Sweetheart_. That’s… I mean, yeah, okay, that’s definitely not a good thing. We don’t want to make a habit of… peeing in plants.” She’s forced to stop again, still avoiding meeting Beca’s eye. “But it’s good that you told us.”

“No,” Violet shakes her head tragically, refusing to be consoled. “It doesn’t matter. Because Santa already  _knows_. Like in the song.” Suddenly she face plants onto the bed between them, uttering a muffled, plaintive wail. “I ruined Christmas!”

Chloe and Beca trade dumbfounded looks over her back, neither having any immediate idea of how to fix this mess. Beca still really wants to laugh, but she can read the  _Don’t_ in Chloe’s gaze as easily as if she’d said it out loud. Shutting her eyes for a second, she considers their options in this supremely ridiculous situation. She feels responsible, since if it wasn’t for her raging sex drive, they probably would have already had the presents under the tree. But there’s clearly no way to explain that to their daughter.

She opens her eyes again with an idea. It might not work, but it’s worth a shot. “All right.” She takes a deep breath. “Hey,” she nudges Violet. “Would you sit up, please? And stop being such a drama queen? There’s something we need to tell you. About Santa Claus.”

Though she drags out the process, Violet does finally pull herself up from the bed and turn around to face them, intrigued.

Chloe, however, looks confused, and more than a little concerned. She pulls Violet into her lap, as if to protect her from whatever Beca’s about to say.

“It’s a big secret,” Beca adds, “so you have to promise you’re not gonna tell any other kids.” She shoots Chloe a look over Violet’s head that she hopes conveys  _Trust me_ , but Chloe still seems nervous, obviously wondering where on earth she’s going with this.

But Violet is now hanging on every word. “I promise,” she says solemnly.

“Okay. Here it is.” She lowers her voice to a discreet level. “Santa Claus?” Here Beca takes a long pause for maximum dramatic impact, starting to enjoy herself a little. “He doesn’t actually  _care_ whether you’re good or not.”

She can sense the relief washing over Chloe as she realizes what Beca’s up to.

“Yes he does,” Violet insists petulantly.

“Nope,” Beca shakes her head. “He doesn’t. Parents just want kids to think that, so they’ll be good. But the truth is, Santa doesn’t give a crap. About  _anything_ you do. He’s gonna bring you stuff no matter what.”

“It’s true,” Chloe chimes in. “He really doesn’t care. The song is a lie.”

Mulling this over, Violet seems to want to believe them, but she’s not quite there yet.

“In fact…” Beca looks around as if she’s about to impart even more confidential information. “Did I ever tell you about the Christmas Eve when I stabbed my brother in the shoulder with a pencil?”

Violet looks shocked. “Why did you stab Uncle Chris?”

“I had to.” In her most serious tone, Beca explains, “Because he called Nicole Scherzinger a skank.”

Thinking about this, Violet wants to know, “Who’s Nicole…” she struggles to pronounce the name, “Scherrrr…zinger?”

“She was a Pussycat Doll,” Chloe supplies helpfully.

“Yeah,” Beca agrees. “Well, I mean,” she shrugs, compelled to add, “not just  _a_  Pussycat Doll.  She was, like, the  _lead_ Pussycat Doll.”

Still seeming deeply confused, Violet asks, “Who were the- ”

“You know what, that’s not important,” Beca quickly interrupts her. “The point is, she wasn’t a skank. She was a superstar. And a very important part of my childhood. And I’m  _pretty sure_  that I was trying to kill my brother with that pencil. He still has graphite lodged under his skin, to this day.”  

“He does,” Chloe confirms. “I’ve seen it.”

Looking back and forth from one to the other, Violet considers this.

Now Beca pauses, waiting until she’s sure her daughter is listening to every word. “But you know what? Santa didn’t even blink at that attempted murder. He still brought me every single thing I asked for that year.”

After processing this new information, Violet does finally seem to be reassured. But then another flicker of worry crosses her face as she glances at the clock. “But it’s almost morning. Maybe he just forgot.”

“He didn’t forget, I promise,” Chloe tells her. “Actually,” she throws out impetuously, “he’s on his way to our house, right now. We know that  _for sure_.”

“How?” Violet demands.

“Because…” Unprepared to provide evidence, Chloe casts a desperate glance at Beca, but Beca gives her a tiny shrug; she’s all tapped out on bullshit. “Because, he just texted us!”

Beca bites the inside of her cheek, hard, just as Violet turns to her for corroboration. She nods, saying carefully, “Yep.”

“No, he didn’t,” she sulks, but it’s clear she wants them to prove her wrong.

“Yes, he did,” Chloe insists. “Right before you came in. He texted to say he’s almost here. What, you don’t believe me?”

“Let me see it.”

“You want to  _see_ the text from Santa? All right.” She seems to be racking her brain for inspiration. “Bec, give me your phone.”

Beca squints at her, dubious. “O-kayyy.” With an expression of  _You sure about this?_ she nevertheless retrieves her phone from the nightstand and hands it over.

Navigating easily to her message app, Chloe at first looks frantic as she taps through the threads, but then her face lights up with triumph as she reads something on the screen. She angles the phone toward Violet, pointing at a received message bubble in the left column. “Here it is. Right there, see it?” She reads it out loud. “It says,  _Almost there! Don’t give up on me ;)_ ”

Violet studies the words for a minute, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger as she concentrates on trying to sound out the letters.

Chloe isn’t lying, this is precisely what the text says. Of course, what neither of them tells Violet is that this is actually a text from Chloe herself, sent yesterday afternoon during Violet’s nap, in response to one from Beca which reads  _How close are you to home? I’m in bed about to start without you._

After a few more seconds of scrutinizing, Violet reaches her verdict. “Kay,” she finally says, accepting their word for it.

“Okay?” Beca reiterates, trying not to look as relieved as she feels. “You believe us now?” She snatches the phone back before Violet can change her mind.

“See, silly? There was nothing to be worried about,” Chloe squeezes her reassuringly.

At long last, they’re rewarded by their daughter’s smile, which breaks over her face and lights it up with joy, like the proverbial rainbow after the storm. “I know,” she tells them, as if she’s been fine all along and they’re the ones who’ve been freaking out.

Unfortunately, now that her inner peace has been restored, Violet for the first time seems to notice the odd condition of her parents’ bedroom. Taking in her surroundings with perplexity as she slowly looks around her, she asks, “Why is there blankets on everything?”

“Um, because the roof was leaking,” Beca says fast, knowing that out of all the nonsense explanations they’ve cooked up in the last ten minutes this is surely the lamest. “And we didn’t want the furniture to get messed up.”

“Oh.”

To keep her from dwelling on this long enough to remember that it hasn’t rained at all in the last few weeks, Beca hurriedly changes the subject. “You know, you should probably get back to bed.  The thing is… Santa might be a total pushover when it comes to the naughty thing? But he  _really_ does want you to be asleep when he gets here.”

“Yeah, it’s true,” Chloe nods. “That part is actually pretty important. We shouldn’t take any chances.”

“Okay,” Violet agrees immediately.

But Chloe doesn’t release her just yet. “So, do you feel better about everything now?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you excited about tomorrow?” She gives her a gentle shake.

“Uh-huh.” Violet is now beginning to squirm to get out of her lap.

“You’re gonna have so much fun,” Chloe promises her. “I bet you’re gonna get every present you asked for, and probably some that you didn’t even think of.”

“Yeah. But, Mommy,” she finally runs out of patience. “I have to go.”

“Oh, okay,” Chloe laughs, finally letting go of her. “You’re right, you should go. Kiss first!”

After she accepts the kiss with barely-concealed haste, Violet starts to run right out of the room, but Beca interjects. “Ah-ah-ah! Hey. Are you forgetting something?”

With a heavy sigh, Violet turns and comes back for yet another goodnight hug and kiss. “We already did this, before,” she can’t help pointing out to Beca.

Beca laughs. “Yeah, well, if you’d stayed in bed we wouldn’t have to do it all over again.”

Violet has no desire to argue, since time is of the essence. Released from Beca’s hug, she heads back to her bedroom at a sprint. Chloe waits in their doorway while Beca follows their daughter down the hall to her room, where she watches as Violet springs into bed. Giving her a last wave and a reminder to go to sleep fast, she gently closes the door. Then she comes back toward Chloe, smiling, both hands raised in the air for a soft and soundless high-five.

Chloe hangs onto her hands and tugs her back into their bedroom. After the door is shut behind them, they both lean against it, finally allowing themselves to laugh, but not too loudly.

“Did that really just happen?” Chloe asks in a low voice. “Oh my God, I thought you were gonna tell her about Santa Claus.” She gives Beca’s shoulder a playful shove. “I would have  _killed you._ ”

“I know,” Beca smirks. “Sorry. Nice save with the text, though. We should have just started with that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chloe says modestly. “I guess it’s a good thing she can’t read too well yet.”

Beca laughs, then both are quiet for a few seconds as they bask in the relief of pulling the whole thing off.

“So, I don’t want to sound cocky,” Beca says, sounding deliberately cocky, “but I think we’re nailing this parenting thing.”

“Totally,” Chloe concurs. Then she winces a little. “I mean, except for the part where she might be traumatized for life after seeing a Christmas tree with no presents under it.”

“Right. Except for that,” Beca agrees. She looks around the room at all the mounds covered by blankets. “We should probably get this stuff downstairs. Before she wakes up and has another existential crisis.”

Chloe nods, taking a deep breath and looking ready for action. “Let’s do it.”

It takes five trips to get everything to the living room, five excruciatingly slow trips as they tiptoe down the upstairs hallway and the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Beca makes a special detour out to her backyard studio to retrieve her own presents for Chloe, because it’s the only place that’s safe to hide them from her wife’s snooping habits.

On their last trip from the upstairs bedroom, as she sets her final load of presents down on the floor, Chloe suddenly asks, “So, I have to know. Did you really stab your brother to defend Nicole Scherzinger’s honor?”

“I mean…” Beca maneuvers a large rectangular box into an armchair next to the tree and then lifts her hands in a hapless gesture. “He called her a skank. What was I supposed to do?”

“Aw, baby,” Chloe gives her a sympathetic pout. “I can’t believe you thought you were straight for so many years.”

“I know,” Beca mutters sheepishly. “I’m an idiot.”

Once all the gifts are finally unloaded in front of the tree, they work on arranging them. But every time Beca puts a present in a particular place, Chloe moves it to a different spot. So she gives up and lets her handle the fine-tuning of the visuals, standing back to watch while eating the cookies left out for Santa. She’s earned them.

Eventually, her attention drifts over to the large, nearly tree-sized poinsettia on the floor near the window, in its gleaming white pot. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at that plant the same way again.”

Chloe gives a loud laugh, remembering the cause for this assertion, then claps a hand to her mouth to stifle it. She glances toward the doorway, as if to make absolutely certain Violet is nowhere in evidence, saying in a low voice, “God, I thought I was gonna lose it. She looked so guilty.”

“I know. That’s why I was trying not to make eye contact with you, dude. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it together.”

Coming to stand beside her and examining the plant, Chloe muses, “I guess I should probably change the potting soil tomorrow. But I mean, it could have been worse, right? At least she didn’t poop in it.”

They both stare at the flowers for a few seconds in silence.

“We have a weird kid,” Beca remarks.

Chloe smiles, nodding a little. “True. But I wouldn’t want any other kind.”

Unconsciously, Beca rests a hand on her stomach. Only after she’s noted her own gesture does her mind catch up, and she finds herself wondering what these two will be like, whether they’ll resemble Violet or whether they’ll have totally different personalities from their big sister, or even from each other. Wondering what kind of trouble they’ll inevitably get into, what they’ll be afraid of, what they’ll love, what kind of people they’ll become. Thinking about it makes her feel dizzy and out of her depth, so she stops herself.  _One day at a time._

She looks over to find Chloe watching her, a soft, thoughtful expression on her face, as if her mind is on the same track.

After a few seconds Chloe looks around, making sure the job is totally done. “Oh, hey, come over here a minute.” She draws Beca toward the doorway, positioning her so that she’s facing the room. “This is the best part.” Then she turns the lights out, leaving only the Christmas tree lights on.

Chloe comes back to stand beside her, and they look out at the room.

“Wow,” Beca breathes.

They gaze silently at the spectacle of their own living room transformed, the presents spilling out from under the tree, covering a large section of the floor, even stacked in the chairs nearest the tree. Violet’s stocking is too heavy to hang on the mantel, so it’s laid in front of the gifts, bulging and overflowing, some of the items scattered on the floor around it because they literally wouldn’t fit inside. Near the fireplace is the doll stroller, which Chloe has covered with a Christmas-themed tablecloth, so it mostly blends in with the other wrapped gifts. The effect of the entire room is impressive, to say the least. It looks like something from a magazine.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s beautiful,” Beca says in all sincerity. “She’s gonna freak out when she sees all this.”

“That’s the idea.” Chloe smiles with excitement. “Don’t let me forget to take some pictures, before she rips into everything.”

“You have to admit, though,” Beca can’t help pointing out, “that’s a  _lot_ of stuff for a four-year-old.”

“Some of it’s for us, too,” Chloe offers in her defense. “It’s not all hers. But yeah,” she acknowledges, “most of it.”

“You don’t think we’re spoiling her too much?”

“I hope not.” She concedes, “I know I might have gone a little overboard. But I just really wanted this Christmas to be special, for her. Because…” Chloe hesitates, almost as if she’s not sure she wants to say the next words out loud, or maybe she just needs a second to get her emotions under control. “Because it’s the last one with just the three of us.”

Somehow, as implausible as it seems, this is the first time such an obvious fact has occurred to Beca. Maybe, on some unconscious level, she’s been avoiding thinking about it. Staring at the Christmas tree, she’s stunned into poignant silence by the emotion that hits her as she contemplates this truth.

Chloe continues in a quiet voice. “Next year is gonna be so different. We’ll have a five-year-old, and two infants.” Noticing that Beca still hasn’t said anything, she adds quickly, “And it’s not that I’m not excited. I am. So  _beyond_ excited, and, just, over the moon. But at the same time…” she pauses. “It won’t ever be like this again. You know?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s true,” Beca admits softly, marveling, “She’s not gonna be the baby anymore.” Struggling to find the right words, she adds, “I mean, she’ll always be… our baby.  But…”

“I know. I know what you mean.” Chloe takes a slightly shaky breath and lets it out. “So, anyway, that’s why I maybe overdid it, a little. I just wanted this one to be special.”

Beca finally looks over at her, then reaches out and takes her hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard. “It will be.”

Chloe raises Beca’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, her eyes bright with unshed tears, thanking her without needing to say the words.

Looking back at the tree again, Beca shakes her head, just a bit overwhelmed. “God, it really is gonna be crazy, isn’t it? To go from one kid to three.”

Chloe starts to speak, stops herself, then forges ahead. “Are you scared?”

Not entirely sure how to answer, Beca thinks about it. She wants to be honest, but she can also feel a kind of vulnerability radiating from Chloe as she waits for her reply, as if she needs something from her.

“Nah,” Beca finally says, looking over at her. “We got this.”

The grateful, beautiful smile which lights up Chloe’s face pierces straight into Beca’s heart, and somehow makes her believe in the absolute truth of the words she’d just uttered.

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees, sounding as if she believes it too.

Drawn by an impulse too powerful to fight, Beca turns to her and pulls her close, holding her face with a reverent touch as she moves in and presses their lips together, slowly and softly. This time it’s not a lustful kiss, but one of pure love. They’ve been together long enough that Chloe instinctively knows the difference, and she lets herself melt into it with her eyes closed. There’s no mistletoe in this particular doorway, but they don’t need it.

After a few seconds Beca tastes salt, and realizes with mild surprise that Chloe is crying. She pulls back a little. “Hey.” Reaching up, she uses her thumbs to smudge away a few of the tears. “I’m the one with the hormones, here.”

“Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. That’s just it.” She looks down and places her palms over the subtle roundness of Beca’s stomach, in the same reverent way Beca had just touched her face. “I’ve never been this happy in my entire life, Beca. After last time, I honestly didn’t think we’d ever be doing this again.” She looks up and meets her gaze, but doesn’t move her hands. “I hope you know this is the best Christmas present you could ever possibly give me.”

As usual, this level of emotion makes Beca a bit uncomfortable. “Well, good,” she jokes with a little shrug. “Because I didn’t get you anything else.”

Chloe leans closer, grinning. “I know that’s not true, but even if it was? I wouldn’t care.”

Beca smiles too, wrinkling her nose into another kiss.

“I love you,” Chloe mumbles against her lips.

Now, as if her hormones are indeed living up to her comment from a minute ago, Beca feels an unexpected surge of emotion. She wraps her arms around Chloe and pulls her into a hug, since that at least allows her to hide her face. Waiting a few seconds until she trusts her voice not to break, she speaks directly against her ear. “I love you too. So, so,  _so_ much.” She swallows hard against the knot in her throat. “Like, it’s honestly  _disgusting_ , how much I love you.”

Over her shoulder Chloe makes a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes her tighter. They hold each other like that for a while, barely moving except for hands stroking over backs or kisses pressed into hair.

Leaning her head against Chloe’s shoulder and closing her eyes, Beca loses track of time. She’s drifting in a pleasantly euphoric trance state, wishing they could somehow just teleport straight to their room and go to sleep, without actually having to walk up the stairs. She summons the energy to mutter, “We should get to bed.”

“Good idea,” Chloe agrees, sounding sleepy as well.

But then suddenly, out of nowhere, Beca feels a tiny but sharp twinge of pain on the bottom of her ass. “ _Ah_ ,” she jerks a little. “What the hell was that?” Finally they separate, and she leans back and peers at Chloe. “Did you pinch me?”

“What?” Chloe’s face is the picture of innocence. “No.”

At first Beca’s genuinely confused. But then Chloe adds, as if just thinking of it, “Oh, you know what I bet it was? I bet it was that sex elf, again.”

A slow grin now replaces Beca’s puzzlement. “Really? You saw her?”

“Does she look a little bit like a miniature Pussycat Doll?”

“That’s her,” Beca widens her eyes. “Oh my God, you did see her.”

“Then, yep. She was here.” Chloe bends closer and whispers, “And I bet I know why.”

“You think?”

“Mm-hm. I bet she’s a little miffed that we didn’t quite… finish the job, earlier.”

The erotic tone of Chloe’s voice acts as a trigger, and in an instant Beca’s libido wakes from near-slumber and she’s flooded once again with a tidal wave of desire. It hits her with such unexpected force that she feels her toes clench on the rug under her feet. The orgasm from half an hour ago is suddenly as irrelevant as if it never happened. So much for going straight to sleep.

“Wow, those pinches really work,” she murmurs.

Chloe giggles and kisses her again. “I’m counting on it.” Now she takes Beca’s left hand and lifts it, staring down at it and turning it over, palm up, as she strokes a spot between her fingers contemplatively. “You know, I was just thinking, maybe I could get into that whole papercut kink of yours.”

Beca smiles, but then pulls back a bit and regards her with a curious look. “You do know I was kidding about that, right?”

Chloe only raises an eyebrow mysteriously and kisses the precise spot where the papercut had occurred, then turns in a seductive manner and begins leading her toward the stairs.

“Right?” Beca repeats, allowing herself to be pulled along.

Still no answer, aside from a coy smirk.  

Beca teases, “Okay, see, now you’re scaring me a little.”

Chloe laughs as they start up the stairs, and then laughs even harder when Beca admits, “Still  _really_ turned on, though.”


End file.
